


Welcome to Red Dwarf

by DontCallMeStraightOrCis



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: M/M, and i do as i please so enjoy my many weird hcs, pretty much every character makes an appearence - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-03 23:20:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 18,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20461181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontCallMeStraightOrCis/pseuds/DontCallMeStraightOrCis
Summary: au where Red Dwarf is a slightly radiated Welsh ex-mining town populated by strange people and unidentified creatures, Rimmer is a sketch artist joining a group of scientists to investigate the strange place, Lister is the wonderfully peculiar host of the local radio show, and Frankenstein the cat is known to float and quote German fables backwardsaka a welcome to night vale au





	1. Rimmer Judges Wales

**Author's Note:**

> this is essentially a collection of very short stories sort of set in a welcome to night vale world. a lot will be romantic and focusing on rimmer and lister's relationship, but some will just be about rimmer interacting with this world and the other characters. hope you enjoy

The first person they had met upon entering Red Dwarf was, in hindsight, perhaps the most normal person there.

A drunk ginger Dane whose eyes, for some reason, were red. Completely red. Pupil, iris, sclera and all. They even seemed to be glowing a little. Even their freckles were red and seemed to glow.

The person whistled when their van stopped by the entrance to Red Dwarf, a large ornate gate, and gave them all a dopey grin.

“Well I’ll be,” the person drawled, “Newcomers. Did you get lost or something?”

Professor Irene Edgington, a woman who had yet to realise she was wearing her glasses upside down, leaned out the window to respond.

“We’re the scientists from Io University,” she explained, “I believe we’re expected.”

The smile dropped from the person’s face.

“Oh. Right. You. I have to let you in then.”

They frowned and made a show of throwing their hand back to hit a button on the wall. The gates slowly opened, and the stranger gave them all a long look.

“I hope you know what you’re getting yourselves into,” they said before taking a swig out of a beer bottle. 

There was a large collection of empty bottles by their scruffy shoes. The bottle in his hand was soon empty and chucked down to meet the others. Instead of smashing, however, it seemed to bounce.

“Of course we do,” Edgington responded with a frown, “We’re scientists. We’re going to do science.”

The person - Olaf Peterson, according to the patch on his shirt - snorted.

“Good luck. And when you need a drink, look for the red house on the edge of town. I do ‘em dirt cheap.”

The person finally smiled again, though it didn’t seem incredibly kind, and gave them a sloppy salute as they drove by.

“And don’t forget to turn on the radio!” Peterson called as the gates closed.

“Well,” Edgington mused, “That was interesting.”

The other scientists murmured in agreement, while the one non-scientist of the group stayed silent.

He instead shuffled in his seat, clutching his bag tightly to his chest as they finally entered Red Dwarf.

Arnold Rimmer was already regretting coming here. Maybe he should have followed after Howard and become a technician; it would have been hell, but at least he wouldn’t have to move to a whole other country. A bizarre hell-hole of a country. 

He had known Wales was going to weird, but he hadn’t expected it to be this strange.

And the people in it seemed stranger still. Why had that person’s eyes been red? Surely it wasn’t healthy. Could he even see out of them? Maybe they were just contact lenses though. Yes, contact lenses. That sounded normal and good. They were just a strange person with a strange taste and n fashion, that’s all.

And with that, he finally looked away from the door, and out the window.

It was an interesting town, truly living up to its name by both being tiny, and having a rather red-based colour scheme. The lamplights were all red, and cast an interesting glow over the quiet town, making all they touched look drenched in blood.

Rimmer shuddered and tightened his grip on his bag.

Why did they have to arrive at midnight? Everything seemed too much worse in the middle of the night. All the shadows seemed to move and grown and shrink, twisting into different shapes before disappearing completely. And the fact that the place was silent and empty didn’t help the uncomfortable atmosphere. 

No, that wasn’t completely true, Rimmer realised on second glance. There were a few figures cloaked in black walking around in a caged off area to the left. Zero-G playing field, read a rather battered sign that stood in front of the field. They didn’t seem to be playing any ‘Zero-G’, whatever that was, just slowly walking around. Or maybe that was how you played Zero-G. How was he supposed to know what weird games they played in Wales?

Half an hour later, they were still travelling.

“Are we lost?” Another scientist, Sim Crawford.

“No,” Edgington, “The map says we just have to go in one straight line, and we’ve been travelling in a straight line.”

“Well you must be reading the map wrong,” Crawford argued, “There’s no way we could have-“

“Shit!”

The van jerked to a stop, and Rimmer clutched at his chest, breathing heavily.

“Irene, what the fuck!?” Crawford asked.

“We’re h-here.”

Instead, in front of them, was a large white building. 

“Oh. Right.” Crawford coughed. “Well. Good.”

They all clambered out and entered the building that would double as both their housing and the lab. Rimmer looked around with a frown.

It looked fine, but it smelt strange. Like… ash and disinfectant. It was a sharp scent that made him cough as he stumbled along behind the scientists. And as he settled down for the night in his new cold bed and heard some ominous humming outside his window, he shoved his fist in his mouth to muffle a scream.

Fuck it all.


	2. Rimmer Makes a Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rimmer has his first introduction to the host of the local radio show, David Lister. Also, fish.

Rimmer was not a scientist, but his first day in Red Dwarf, he made an earth-shattering, mind-boggling, completely scientific discovery that changed the way he would look at the world forever.

He realised he was gay.

And it was all the fault on the man on the radio.

He had never been a lover of the radio – they never played the music he liked, never – but Professor Edgington had decided that they ought to follow the advice of the drunk from the night before, and turn the radio on as they had breakfast. Smooth jazz played for a few seconds, and then, a voice broke through.

_“Good morning, dear listeners, and welcome to the Red Dwarf radio show.” _

Rimmer felt like someone had poured lava over his face as his cheeks burned red, and his heartbeat so fast that he worried he was going to have a heart attack. It was a distant worry however, overshadowed by the thought ‘_fuck me’_.

The voice was strangely beautiful. It was low, slow and rough, belonging to a Scouser. Before, Rimmer would have never considered using the word ‘beautiful’ to describe a Liverpool accent – ‘interesting’ perhaps, not beautiful – but it was a perfect description for this voice.

_“Today is jus' gorgeous, isn’ it listeners? The sun is shining, the skies are red, and the smell of decomposition hangs heavy in the air. If you gaze long enough in the streets, you may even see what looks to be strange figures in black watching you back. But don’ be scared, you are safe, they will not harm you. They jus’ like to watch, but don’ we all sometimes?” _

The man laughed, and Rimmer felt as though he’d just met god.

_“Oh? Our dear intern Kryten has jus’ come by with some news. Apparently, we have some new guests in our town. A group of scientists, how fascinating. Mayor Hollister has yet to welcome them personally, so I hear, but I’m sure he soon will. He has been caught up recently; his husband Brandan is in the hospital. Poor guy keeps saying mountains are real. If you pass the hospital, or an especially nice looking rose, offer some condolences to our dear mayor. Lord knows he needs it right now.” _

As the person cleared their throat and shuffled some papers, Rimmer blinked and looked around the room. All the scientists’ eyes were locked on the radio, and they leaned close, faces red. All except one, Crawford, who looked curious but not as… interested as everyone else. It took Rimmer a moment to notice he had leaned forward too but had no time to rectify this as the voice returned.

_“Well, now isn’ tha’ interesting,” _they hummed,_ “Apparently, one of our newcomers isn’ a scientist, but an artist. Isn’ tha’ wonderful? I went to art college once, you know. They kicked me out after I tried to play the guitar, which is a shame. But still, an artist in town, isn’ tha’ nice? His name, I’ve been told is Rimmer. Arnold Judas Rimmer.” The person chuckled again. “What an unfortunate name. I’ve heard other things about him though, dear listeners. He’s supposedly very tall, with dark brown curls and hazel eyes… handsome, so some say…. McGruder has been known to exaggerate though, so I’d wait until you meet him yourself before you decided if he is or not. Peterson says he isn’, tha' he has a large nose, but I don’ think that’s necessarily a bad thing. I like large noses, they can be rather… handsome, I believe. They make you stand out, add character. But while large noses are nice, small noses are nice too. Or no noses at all. We’re all different, and isn’ tha’ just beautiful, listeners?” _

Rimmer licked his lips and gripped at his chest, feeling the violent thumping of his heart. He kept his eyes wide and open until the world began to blur, and he had to reluctantly close them. He’d never felt to simultaneously offended and complimented.

A strange gurgling and growling was coming from the radio, cut off from another laugh from the radio host.

_“Oh, don’ worry Todhunter, you know you’re the only tall, dark, mysterious harbinger of death in my life.” _

There was a high-pitched gurgle, but the radio host paid it no attention.

_“And now, onto the news…” _

Two hours passed before anyone thought to question what had been said on the radio.

Five minutes after the host had signed off with _“stay oblivious and content, dear listeners, for there is truly nothing for you to worry about. I am David Lister, and this has been the morning radio show. I’ll see you all again in a few hours, I hope you don’ miss me too much”_, Crawford slammed a book shut and stood up.

“What the hell was that!? Why did he say that the skies are red? They can’t be red, right?”

There was a moment of hesitation, then almost everyone stood up and rushed to the windows.

“No way.”

“Holy shit!”

“What the fuck, how-”

Rimmer stayed where he was, feeling boneless and lightheaded. After a few deep breaths, he opened his eyes and returned to the world of the living.

And then, he looked down at his trousers.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

“Fucking hell, are those trout falling form the sky?”


	3. Rimmer Fights a Vending Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rimmer tried to find food and instead angers a vending machine.

Finding food in Red Dwarf was like trying to find the ark of the covenant.

  
Rimmer took another glance at his map – the fifth glance in ten minutes – then angrily scrunched it up in a ball and threw it in the bin.

  
It was pointless. He should have just stayed back and waited for Crawford to fetch dinner. Sure, what she brought back always tasted like shit, but it was edible at least. At this rate, he wasn’t even sure if he would be able to find his way back to the lab. Maybe this was how he died, hungry outside of an abandoned laundry mat, where the machines oozed a black liquid and incoherent messages were scratched on the walls.

  
Still, he pushed on, turning a corner, and-

Walked face-first into a vending machine.

  
“Fucking hell,” he hissed, stumbling back.

  
_“Smeg man, watch where you’re going!”_

  
Rimmer blinked, looking around. There was no one around except him.

  
_“Hey, idiot, I’m talking to you!”_

It was the vending machine. The vending machine was talking to him.

  
“Sorry,” he muttered in shock.

  
_“As you should be! Geez, you always this rude to people you walk into buddy?”_

  
“I-“ Rimmer shook his head. So, they had weirdly advanced AI vending machines here. Okay. Maybe that was just a normal thing in Wales. Who knew? Not him. “Fuck off!”

  
_“I guess the answer’s yes,_” the vending machine huffed, _“…Are you gonna order anything, or are you just gonna stand there gaping at me all day? I’m a busy machine you know, I have better things to be doing than talking to you.”_

  
Rimmer took a deep breath.

  
This was fine. Good, even. He could probably get some food now.

  
He walked in front of the machine and bent down slightly to stare at the options. Curry. There was an awful lot of curry options. And some strange soup Rimmer didn’t like the look of.

  
“Is curry all you do?”

  
It sounded stupid once said out loud, but it was too late to take it back now.

  
_“You can clearly see that I also sell soup."_

"I was being sarcastic," Rimmer lied, "Why all the curry options?"

_"It’s Lister’s favourite.”_

  
Rimmer’s heart stuttered.

“Lister? From the radio?”

  
_“Of course from the radio, how many smegging Lister’s do you know?”_

  
Rimmer frowned.

“What does that mean?”

  
_“What?”_

  
“Smegging. You keep saying it.”

  
The vending machine laughed at him. He curled his hands into fists and tried to fight the quiver in his lips.

  
“Now you listen here, milladdo-” he began.

  
_“You don’t know anything, do you?”_ The vending machine taunted. _“I bet you don’t even know what Gazpacho soup is!”_

  
“Of course I do!” Rimmer lied. “It’s, well, soup, isn’t it? Obviously.”

  
“_....I’m rolling my eyes at you, just so you know.”_

  
“You don’t have eyes!”

  
_“You can’t prove that.”_

“I- you’re a fucking machine! Of course you don’t any eyes!”

  
For good measure, he kicked the machine.

This was a mistake.

  
It really hurt.

  
He hissed through his teeth and tried to hide the pain, glaring at the machine. It just contained to flash red and yellow, mockingly.

  
_“…Do you feel better now?”_ The vending machine asked.

  
“Fuck you!”

  
_“I’m saving myself for marriage,_” the machine sniffed, “_Look, if you’re not going to buy anything, just leave, okay?”_

  
After a few moments, Rimmer gave in and grabbed his wallet from out his pocket.

  
“Not like there’s anywhere else to eat,” he huffed.

  
_“Well, there is a canteen. It’s the hollowed-out space shuttle past the Zero-G pitch.”_

  
“What even is Zero-G?” Rimmer wondered.

  
_“Anti-gravity football. A pretty good game is you ask me. Not as good as chess, but oh well. Who cares? Not like anyone ever asks me.”_

  
Rimmer frowned and blinked at the vending machine as he put his money in.

  
“…Anti-gravity football?”

  
He was fairly certain that wasn't right. He was sure a key component in football _was_ gravity so that the players and footballs didn’t go floating off in the middle of a match.

  
_“…I’m shaking my head at you,”_ the vending machine announced, _“Honestly, what part of that was confusing?”_

  
“All of it?” Rimmer admitted. “…Can I have the soup now please?”

  
_“Fine. You don’t deserve it, but I suppose I should do my job.”_

  
The soup was cold, but he wasn’t in the mood to argue any more with the vending machine, so silently moved away.

  
He sipped at his… interesting lunch as he walked back to the house.

  
Alright. So vending machines could talk here.

  
That was fine.

  
Great.

  
Fab.


	4. Rimmer Meets Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rimmer meets Cat, the strange humanish-catish person, and Professor Edington has a breakdown.

Their first case study was conducted four days into their arrival at Red Dwarf after a comment from Lister on the radio.

  
_“-and I’d like you all to say a big happy birthday to our dearest Cat who just turned twelve years old! It only feels like yesterday that he was clambering about on all fours, chasing mice and invisible creatures that crawl through walls…”_

  
Cat was a twelve-year-old boy who liked fashion dancing, and was half cat. He looked human for the most part, but had cat ears and eyes, a tail and claws, and acted awful cat-like too. Rimmer thought he might have just believed the child had a very good Halloween costume if it weren’t for the fact that the ears and tails moved independently, and his pupils could flatten to slits.

  
_“…you know, dear listeners, I think we could all take a leaf out of Cat’s book when it comes to motivation. He knew from the age of three that he wanted to be more human, and he worked hard to achieve that goal. Look at him now, as he walks around on two legs and calls Shakespeare a bitch. Isn’ it jus' so inspirational?”_

  
Cat was, apparently, the son of Lister’s cat Frankenstein. Cat lived in a small house attached to Lister, semi-independent as cats are want to do. apparently. It was at least decided that he was independent enough to decide if he wanted to let the scientists investigate him. He did need his mother’s permission, of course, if they wanted to conduct this study in their lab.

  
_“I asked him one day why he had decided to become human, and you know what he said? He told me ‘in my previous life, I was a lot more human. I lived in space with an annoying robot, and ate fish a lot’. I liked that.’ Isn’ tha' jus' fascinating?”_

  
Rimmer took time to perfectly capture the child’s cheeky grin on paper, as the scientists hovered around him and asked questions.

  
“How old are you?” Edington asked.

  
“In what sense?”

  
“Uh, in years?”

  
Cat rolled his eyes and huffed.

  
“I mean, do you mean ‘how old am I in this life’ or how old am I in all lives? How old am I in human years or cat years?”

  
“Um. All. Please.”

  
The results were as follows:

  
• In this life - twelve  
• In all lives – three million  
• In human years – twelve  
• In cat years – sixty-five

  
Nobody was quite sure how this worked, but Cat refused to elaborate. He just rolled his eyes, commented ‘stupid apes’, and went back to playing with Crawford’s keys.  
His baby photos were more interesting than his age though, so they quickly moved on. They were all collected together in a scrapbook, made by Lister, apparently.

  
“He’s so soppy,” Cat complained as he handed it over, “Oh wow, I look amazing in this picture! And that one! And that one!”

  
He purred as he looked at a picture of a completely normal black kitten.

  
Edington put her face in her hands and began to cry.

  
Rimmer patted her back.

  
Science was great.


	5. Rimmer Finds a Wallet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rimmer investigates the Polymorphs, and meets Lister in person.

The first time Rimmer met David Lister in person, was during their second investigation in the field.

They had been following and observing a pack of peculiar creatures. The locals had lovingly dubbed them ‘strange dogs’, an… interesting description considering they looked more like deformed worms with teeth. The scientists called them Polymorphs, which sounded a bit better in his opinion.

He sat back a little way from the group, struggling to properly grip his pen through the hazard suit. He eventually gave up and settled for taking a picture he could later draw. Why they didn’t just use pictures in the first place, he wasn’t sure. Maybe Edgington just liked having free pictures.

He shifted as he reached for the camera, pausing when he realised he was sitting on something. It was a purple wallet. He chucked it to his side as he settled down to take a few photos.

_“The strange dogs have started to do something… well, strange, dear listeners_,” Lister had informed them the day before,_ “They’ve started going after people, and once they’ve found them, they latch onto the person with their tongue - we assume - and seems to suck something out of them. Some emotion or trait. On that note, Kryten would like to formally apologize to anyone he called 'lame’ yesterday after his guilt was stolen. It’s been returned to him now, and he’s been aggressively cleaning the bathroom ever since.” _

Miraculously, everything was going fine.

The pack of Polymorphs seemed perfectly content to let their group hang around close by while they munched on the food Crawford had laid out. It was a very casual investigation, all things considered. Hazard suits aside, no one was in much of a rush to make any notes, preferring to lazily share theories.

“There are high levels of radiation here,” Edgington commented, “Maybe that’s what caused it. They’re dogs that have had long exposure to radiation, which caused them to lose their hair.”

“But would radiation give them the power to steal emotions?” Dr Hildegard Lanstrom questioned.

Nobody had an answer.

“They’re supposed to be violent,” Crawford pointed out, “But they seem docile.”

“This pack always has been. Their hideout is closer to town, so they’ve gotten used to the locals, especially since so many people leave food out for them. Now, has anyone seen my wallet around?”

Everyone froze at the familiar voice.

Nobody made a move, afraid of what they would see.

Shockingly, Rimmer was the first to turn around.

David Lister’s appearance definitely lived up to his voice.

He was a short fat man, with light brown skin and dark brown eyes. His hair was in dreadlocks, some dyed a dark purple, and they were pulled away from his face by a purple hair tie. He wore a black collar around his neck, a white shirt that had black specks dotted about, rolled up at the sleeves and unbuttoned somewhat at the collar. His purple tie was rather loose and messy, his jeans black leather, and his shoes heavy combat boots. Purple tattoos weaved across his arms, and he, in short, looked strangely perfect. Like a punk rock cherub.

He was frowning ever so slightly as he looked around.

Rimmer swallowed and glanced at the purple wallet not too far from his thigh. He picked it up and coughed.

“Is this it?”

Lister turned to him and gave him such a warm smile, it could have caused a drought during winter.

Rimmer choked on his breath and prayed he wouldn’t accidentally drop the wallet.

“Yes! Thank smeg, I was worried I’d dropped it down a drain or it’d gotten eaten by an Emohawk for a second there!”

He took a few steps forward and elegantly plucked the wallet from Rimmer’s hand.

His nails were painted black and chipped, he mused, and some of his fingers bored black and silver rings. They were nice hands, Rimmer mused. They looked like they’d be soft and warm to touch, to hold. He violently shook that thought away.

“Well, ta. Good luck with your science!”

And with that, Lister turned around and left, his dreadlocks swaying behind him. It was a strangely soothing sight.

Crawford hummed.

“Did you see his tattoos? I swear one of them moved.”

“I’ll be honest, I wasn’t really paying any attention to his tattoos,” Edgington admitted, “I was… a bit distracted.”

Crawford huffed.

“This is a scientific investigation. Now’s not the time to be distracted.”

“Why don’t you ever get… distracted?” Rimmer found himself asking.

“Because I’m a lesbian.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

They left twenty minutes later when it became clear that all par Crawford were well and truly distracted. Rimmer sat right next to the radio for the rest of the day, absently drawing the show host as he listened.


	6. Rimmer Makes a Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rimmer finally calls Lister after some encouragement from Crawford.

After that initial meeting, Rimmer started to see the radio host everywhere.

At the supermarket buying bags of blood, lavender cigarettes and cat food, at the bar drinking with Peterson and a man with what looked like (though this could have just been a trick of the light) he had two heads, at the bowling alley with a girl who was pure muscle and at one point attempted to eat a bowling ball- Rimmer saw him everywhere.

It was maddening. It was literally driving him mad. He wasn’t a scientist or psychologist, but he felt certain that this was a scientific fact. Every time he saw the other man, his heartbeat increased, his face turned red and he forgot how to act like a normal human being.

He’d almost broke Edington’s foot at the bowling alley when Lister had laughed. Luckily, she was a forgiving woman, so got over it quickly. Though she did refuse to stand near him when he was bowling.

“Stop being a coward,” Crawford had told him, “Go talk to him.”

“I-I-”

“You like him,” she informed him, “He likes tall men. Call into the radio show. Talk to him. It’s worth a shot.”

“I’m not gay!” Rimmer snapped.

Nobody needed to know his sexuality. It was his business. And it was most definitely only his business if he had a page in his sketchpad dedicated solely to Lister’s soft grin. Which he didn’t. Obviously.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“I-I don’t like men!”

“Neither do I. Go talk to him.”

Before Rimmer could throw out another argument, Crawford sighed gave him a look.

“Romantic, platonic, scientific- whatever. You are interested in him. Talk to him. Maybe the interest will fade.”

She wrote something down on her notepad, ripped the page out and handed it to him. The number for the radio station.

He put it off for three weeks. But after an especially strange dream involving him, Lister, and thirty cans of whipped cream, he gave in.

_“And who do we have here?”_ Lister asked.

Rimmer resisted the urge to hang up, throw the phone at the wall and scream. It was somewhat strange hearing Lister's voice coming from both his phone and the radio, but also rather nice. It felt like he was being surrounded by the voice, it draping over him like a nice, warm blanket. 

“A-Arnold Rimmer.”

_ “Oh, the artist! It’s lovely to finally hear your voice. Cheltenham boy, are you?”_

"Yes."

_"Strange, I swear I recognise your voice..."_

“I spoke to you before. By the Poly- strange dogs.”

_“Oh, that was you, was it? I couldn’t tell; the suits hid your face and muffled your voice.” _

“Ah.”

_“So, to wha’ do I owe the pleasure?” _

“I’m calling for personal reasons,” Rimmer spat out.

He took a deep breath and gnawed on his knuckles while he waited for a reply.

_“Hmmm?” _

“I, um. I wanted to practice doing portraits. I’ve, uh, already drawn all the other scientists,” he lied, “So I need a new subject. And, um, I wanted to ask if you would be my model.”

There was a brief moment of silence.

_“Really? Oh, I’d love to! I’ve never modelled before, well, not with my clothes on at least.” _

Lister laughed, and Rimmer tried to force one out too. It sounded more like someone was crushing his windpipe.

_“I’m free after work today, so how about I come down to the labs then?” _

“R-Right-o.”

_“See you then.” _

Rimmer hung up, then screamed.

He could hear Crawford laughing from the room beside him.


	7. Rimmer Does a Drawing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rimmer paints Lister like one of his French girls.
> 
> Also I, a neurodiverse loser, projects. I have seen a couple other people hc Rimmer as autistic though, so I'm not alone in that. And I have been told that a deleted scene in one of the new series either flat out said or implied that Lister was dyslexic.

“Wow. You’re taller than I thought you’d be.”

That was the first thing Lister said upon reaching the lab. He looked up at Rimmer with wide eyes, before a smile began to creep into his face.

“And I was right, the nose adds character.”

He tapped it lightly with his pointer finger, and Rimmer couldn’t hold back a snort. But then the whole situation truly dawned on him. He had invited the man on the radio here to draw him. Good lord. What the fuck was he doing? If his parents found out he’d done something so stupid, they’d-

He stopped that thought.

“Yes, well, um,” he coughed, “Right this way, milladdo.”

He turned away and began to quickly walk to his room, followed by Lister’s laughter and heavy footsteps.

“Milladdo? I’ve never heard anyone say that before.”

“Well I’ve never heard anyone say ‘smeg’ before,” Rimmer retorted.

“You better get used to it, because people here say it a lot.”

“You better get used to milladdo then.”

“I think I can manage tha’.”

As they reached his door, he began to wonder if it had really been a good idea to do this in his bedroom. But it was too late, there were there. Lister whistled as they walked in, eyes scouring the room.

“Wow, everything’s so tidy here.”

“I believe in keeping everything in tip-top shape,” Rimmer sniffed.

“I try to keep tidy - Kochanski keeps telling me off for constantly misplacing all the paperweights in the office - but it never works out.”

“Kochanski,” Rimmer repeated, “What, is she your girlfriend?”

Lister shook his head and smiled.

“Ex,” he corrected him, “Also my boss. She owns the radio station.”

“That sounds like hell.”

“It’s not tha’ bad, though it does mean she has a smeg ton of blackmail on me…”

“What does 'smeg’ mean? I asked that bloody vending machine-”

Had he just said that?

“43,” Lister hummed as though this was completely normal, “Yes, he did have a lot of complaints about you.”

“He caught me on a bad day.”

“I’m sure. Jus’, maybe don’ kick him next time, hmmm? Or anyone. They don’ really like that.”

“Noted,” Rimmer huffed, “Um, you can sit on the sofa. I’ll just go get my equipment.”

“Brutal.” Lister nodded and Rimmer sped off.

Lister was less terrifying off the radio, strangely enough. It was the voice, Rimmer decided. He didn’t know how to describe it, but it sounded more… relaxed off the air. It should have been more terrifying, knowing that Lister could now hear him and respond, but it wasn’t. The man on the radio was untouchable and godly, the man in his living room was sweet and charming and handsome…

He pinched the inside of his wrist.

He had to stare and draw at the man for a few hours, he couldn’t be having gay thoughts right now. Still, the thoughts persisted. His brain never did like listening to him.

It was hard, for the first few minutes, as he was given the freedom to catalogue every perfection and imperfection in Lister's appearance. The imperfections only served to make him seem even more perfect, however, in some strange twist. It made him more... human.

And he became more human again ten minutes into the drawing.

He began to squirm and shuffle about. Only subtly, but it was enough to notice. It wasn’t too bad, but all the moving was confusing Rimmer a little. It made it look like his tattoos were moving, which was ridiculous.

“Can you sit still for five minutes?” Rimmer snapped.

Lister gave an embarrassed little grin and shrugged.

“Sorry, I have ADHD,” he explained, “I should have probably said that beforehand.”

“Shit, sorry, I-”

“Calm down, you didn’ know. It’s fine.”

Rimmer nodded and licked his lips. He wasn’t sure why, but he said:

“I-I’m autistic.”

It felt good to say out loud. He hadn't told anyone since he'd been diagnosed at thirty. It's not like anyone cared. If anything, it would just make them care less about him.

“I have dyslexia.”

“I have depression.”

“Me too.”

“And anxiety.”

Lister just grinned.

“Aren’ we jus’ wonderfully fucked up?”

Hearing Lister say the word ‘_fucked_’ did _things_ to Rimmer he didn’t want to think about. So, he coughed and went back to drawing.

Lister kept moving every now and then, but Rimmer ignored it. Instead, he focused on Lister’s voice while he related everything he liked and disliked. Later, Rimmer most definitely did not write all these things down, and the lists most definitely did not look like this:

Likes:

· Zero-G

· Curry

· Rock music

· Playing guitar

· Knitting

· Cats

· Sappy romance movies

· Men with curly hair

· The constancy of living in an ever-changing world and the knowledge that you will never be the same person you were last year

Dislikes:

· Dentist appointments

· Salads

· Waking up before 1 am

· Serial killers

· Tim the cook who stole his girlfriend and was also a terrible cook who made awful curry and should not be trusted in any way at all

· The knowledge that in the end will all die alone regardless of how loved we are

· Mushrooms

He paused an hour later, looking at what he had done. It looked good, maybe. But it didn’t look right without colour. David Lister was not a person who could exist without colour, even on the page.

Lister leaned forward and grinned.

“Can I see it?”

“It’s not finished.”

“You can jus’ say no if you don’ wan’ me to look.”

“No, no, you can. Just um, remember that it’s not done.”

Lister hopped off the sofa and stood behind Rimmer. He could feel Lister’s warm breath on the back of his neck and tried not to shudder.

“Smegging hell man,” Lister gasped, “This is amazing!”

“I-It’s not finished,” Rimmer repeated.

His brain was too focused on the body behind him to come up with new words to say.

“Tha’ doesn’ mean it isn’ amazing,” Lister insisted, “Do you do commissions? I’d love a drawing of Frankenstein; I think she’d look amazing in your style.”

“Uh, sure.”

“Brutal! Tell me when you’re done with this one, and we’ll work something out.”

Lister stepped back and peered at his watch. Instead of numbers, there were instead strange symbols. Lister seemed to understand it though, as he groaned and put his hand down. English, Esperanto _and_ Welsh? Lister had a head for languages, didn’t he? Rimmer tried not to think back to the first time Lister had spoken in Esperanto on the radio, sending a secret message to George McIntyre (someone who had died four years ago according to his gravestone but was still listed as being the mayor’s second hand). It had caused him to… feel certain _things_.

“Sorry, I have to go,” Lister, “I have to take Cat to the doctors. Then the vets. They haven’ quite worked out which one he should go to yet, so I thought I’d do both.”

“Rightio,” Rimmer nodded.

He stood up, then paused. What was he supposed to do? Did he show Lister to the door, or-

“Can you show me the way out?” Lister asked.

“Have you forgotten where the door is already?” Rimmer teased.

“No.”

Lister wrapped a hand around his forearm. He had a very firm grip. It wasn’t tight enough to feel uncomfortable, but it was tight enough that it was impossible to forget that it was there. it was a nice grip.

Rimmer coughed and looked away from the hand.

Lister only let go once they were standing on the doorstep of the building. Rimmer strangely missed the grip. He also missed the way that the eye tattoos on Lister’s forearm had moved around to the other side of his arm to watch Rimmer as Lister walked away.

He was a bit too focused on ignoring Crawford who was cackling behind him.


	8. Rimmer Eats Cereal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rimmer meets a ghost who eats his cereal.

Rimmer had gotten used to many things by his third week in Red Dwarf.

He’d come to accept that vending machines talked, that Gazpacho soup was served cold, that the flies were radioactive and sometimes spontaneously combusted, and that no one ever wanted to do the dishes. Still, he was a little surprised when he woke up one morning to find a man sitting on the table, in his living room, eating cereal.

The man had shaggy black hair, back rimmed glasses, and wore a shit-eating grin as Rimmer came in.

“Who the fuck are you?” Rimmer asked. “Why are you in my flat- how did you get in?!”

The man sunk through the table, through the floor, then rose back up a few seconds later.

“Like that.”

And that was Rimmer’s meeting with the only Welsh person he had yet to bump into in this ostensibly Welsh town, George McIntyre.

“I’m a hologram,” McIntyre explained, “I can do all sorts of tricks. Here, look at this!”

His appearance changed and he became a buff, tanned man with blonde hair.

“G’ day mate,” he said in an Australian accent.

Then he laughed in his normal voice and changed back.

Right. So, ghosts were real. Alright. Maybe that meant that aliens did too…

“Rightio,” Rimmer coughed, “Is there, um, something you need?”

He hoped the ghost didn’t need him to perform an exorcism or a séance; he wasn’t good at those sorts of things.

McIntyre held the bowl up and gave it a little shake.

“Just the cereal. I’ve run out.”

Rimmer nodded, and sat down on the sofa, watching the man eat.

“Now dear listeners,” Lister began, “I must ask you to keep an eye out for McIntyre. Mayor Hollister says he hasn’t been haunting the men’s bathroom like he usually does, which probably means he needs to go shopping. Locking your doors, windows and cupboards will do nothing, listeners. Instead, consider salt. It probably won’t keep McIntyre away, but I have heard it’s good for your skin.”

McIntyre wriggled his eyebrows.

“Can you please leave?” Rimmer asked.

“I haven’t finished my breakfast yet,” McIntyre said, “Give me a minute.”

Rimmer gave him ten.

McIntyre didn’t leave. He’d just migrated closer to the tv to watch some god-awful show about robots called Androids. He didn’t seem to be causing any trouble, but Rimmer still didn’t want the ghost there. He liked his privacy.

_“Rimmer?” _

Lister had a nice way of saying his name. He’d never thought anyone could make it sound good, but Lister did.

“I uh, I’ve found McIntyre. He’s eating cereal in my living room.”

_“McIntyre!_” Lister called out. _“Leave him alone! I promise I’ll buy you seven more boxes of Frosties if you leave right now.”_

“Tell him I want Coco pops too!” McIntyre yelled out.

“He wants Coco Pops too,” Rimmer repeated.

_“Ugh, fine! Whatever you want! Jus’ go back; Captain Hollister is busy helping Brandan settle in back home, so he really needs you back to sort things out.” _

McIntyre twisted his lip up and frowned at the ceiling. Then, he nodded. “Alright. Tell him I’ll be there now in a minute.” He sunk through the floor, leaving behind his bowl and spoon.

That was nice of him, Rimmer mused. Would have been nicer still if he didn’t steal his food.

“He’s left.”

Lister let out a breath.

_“Thank smeg. Sorry if he caused you any trouble.” _

Lister hung up and returned to the radio. Rimmer sat down to listen.

He had ended up having to buy his own radio after it became clear that everyone else also wanted to keep the communal radio. It said downstairs during the day, but when night came, it was always mysteriously missing.

_“Sorry about all tha’ dear listeners, I didn’ mean to raise my voice. Anyway, in other news, some people have reported seeing glimpses of the future. Well, no one has actually reported anything yet, but I saw someone in the future did, so I assume they will. Don’ be alarmed if you see a copy of yourself or someone else during something strange, it’s merely a reflection of the future, an’ no matter wha’ you do, you can’ change it. Give into the inescapability of the inevitable. And I give my condolences to anyone who sees their own deaths today, I hope they’re all quick and painless. And now, onto the weather.”_

Rimmer didn’t see himself die, thankfully. He did, however, see himself covered in salad cream, shouting angrily at a laughing McIntyre. Then, he saw himself calling up Lister. Then, him disappearing into the bedroom along with the radio. Then, he heard noises.

He turned up the radio and got his own bowl of cereal.


	9. Rimmer Receives a Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lister puts his knitting skills to work, and Rimmer gets a date. Maybe.

The first present Rimmer had been given in five years was from Lister.

_I don’t think you have many warm clothes, so I thought you might appreciate this _

The printed-out note had been slipped under his door, attached to a package. Underneath the text was an adorable little doodle of Lister waving.

Rimmer wasn’t sure why he was surprised. Lister had gotten into art college after all. For a moment, he pictured a scene where he and Lister were sitting on either side of his small sofa, both grinning as they drew the other…

He cautiously opened the package, a part of him scared of what he might possibly find.

It turned out to be a homemade jumper. Navy blue with a bicorne in the middle. For a few minutes, Rimmer just sat crossed-legged on the floor, clutching it with a tight grip.

Of all the strange things that had happened to him since moving to Red Dwarf, somehow the fact that someone had dedicated time and care to make a present for him was the strangest of all.

He couldn’t fight the smile that made its way onto his lips as he put it on. It was soft, warm and comfortable to wear, and best of all, he could still smell some of Lister’s cologne on it. The cologne itself wasn’t the world’s best (it smelt strangely of salt), but it proved that this was Lister’s doing.

This was apparently a very common thing for Lister to do, he realised as the week went on. Almost everyone in town had their own personalised jumper, and they wore them with smiles. Rimmer wasn’t sure what half the pictures were supposed to mean, but no one had yet to complain about them. Edington’s was light grey with a monkey in the middle, Crawford’s was black with a memory stick, Cat’s was purple and had his own face on it, Kryten had a grey one with a robot in the middle, McIntyre’s was red with a bowl of cereal, and Frankenstein’s was purple with the words ‘world’s best mam’ on the back.

Lister had sent him a picture of that. And a few more with him and Frankenstein.

Frankenstein looked very cat-like for a creature that had given birth to a cat-human hybrid. The only things that seemed a little strange were the fact she had three eyes, they all glowed white, she always floated three meters away from the ground, and she could quote German fables. Only backwards though. And she did seem to be able to move around, but only side to side, and not up or down.

One of those photos – the one where Frankenstein was hovering just above Lister’s shoulder and peering down at him, while he grinned up at her – was blue tacked on the wall beside his bed. It glowed in the dark, for some reason, but Rimmer hadn’t found that too distracting when trying to sleep. It helped somewhat, to be honest. In a place as strange as Red Dwarf, it could be quite comforting to have a source of light close by.

_“I wish you could see this, dear listeners,”_ Lister gushed a few days later,_ “Rimmer drew Frankenstein in her little jumper, and it looks fantastic! He captured her cute tiny nose and slightly threatening qualities perfectly!” _

A day later, a picture of Lister and Frankenstein along with the picture Rimmer had drawn was slipped under his door. He placed it on the wall above the first picture, and read over the note.

It wasn’t anything new for the most part, just a regurgitation of what Lister had said on the radio. But the ending, that was what got him.

_We should go out for dinner sometime, so I can make up for the drawing. You really didn’t need to give it to me for free. Call me, and we’ll work out a time. _

_Lister x _

And true to his words, there was a phone number underneath the message. And another doodle from Lister, of Frankenstein this time.

The note ended up beneath the first photo and by the next morning, he had the number memorised.

_“We’re getting food from vending machine 56, and then we’re going to the museum,”_ Lister let the viewers know, _“There are some things about Napoleon there. I don’ know much about tha’ man, except that he was French, but Rimmer seems to like him, so I’m sure it’ll be interesting. But don’ worry, dear viewers, I always have time for you. You won’ miss a single second of my voice, despite this date. Or, you won’ if you keep the radio on at least. And you really should, dear listeners. You don’ know wha’ might happen if you turn the radio off before the show is over… and now, a word from our sponsors: gingham, is it really back in fashion?” _

And that was how Rimmer got his first date with a man. Or, if he was being honest with himself (which he didn't really like to be) his first date with anyone full stop.

Crawford only laughed when he asked her what the hell he was supposed to wear.


	10. Rimmer Trusts Science

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scientists play fashionistas and Rimmer asks inappropriate questions.

“What made you want to have sex with me?”

It wasn’t a subtle way of going about it, but Rimmer had long since given up on subtly. Subtly didn’t work in Red Dwarf, no one paid any attention to it. Big and bold was the way to go, and Rimmer was more than fine with that.

Edgington, to her credit, merely gave him one confused blink before smiling softly.

"Well, your smile.”

“My smile?”

“Yes. You were in the coffee shop by campus, oblivious to the world as you drew. You were enjoying yourself, happy with how it was turning out, and wearing this genuine smile. It was sweet. It made you look handsome, approachable.”

One small smile. That’s all it had taken to encourage her to talk to him a week later and invite him home. And one complaint about ABBA was all it had taken for her to retract the offer and give him a job instead.

One smile was the reason he was here in the first place.

“Why did you ask?” Edgington questioned.

Rimmer opened his mouth, then shut it again.

“I-I- uh,” he began.

“You don’t actually have to tell me if you don’t want,” she assured him.

“…Lister asked me out for lunch and I have no idea what to do. I was hoping you could just say ‘oh that shirt you wore really turned me on’ so I could get ready, lickety-split.”

Edgington whistled.

“I think my grandma used to call that phase old fashioned. But anyway, I doubt he cares what you’re going to wear. Just relax.”

Rimmer let out a sharp laugh.

“Relax, yes, can do. Right-io."

She put a hand on his arm.

“The guy’s seen you in a hazard suit and is still interested,” she pointed out, “I don’t think an off-white shirt’s going to put him off.”

Of course, that just made Rimmer panic more as he began to wonder ‘fucking hell, did I remember to wash all my white shirts? What if they’re all stained, or gone yellow or grey?! I can’t go out to lunch with Lister wearing an off-white shirt!’.

Edgington pinched his arm.

“Ow!”

“Look, how about you pick an outfit, and we can all give you our two cents on it, hmmm?”

“Are you sure I should trust a bunch of scientists on what clothes are fashionable?”

Edgington pinched his arm again.

“Stop it!” Rimmer hissed.

“Look, do you want the help or not?”

Rimmer bit back the instinctual reply of ‘of course not’.

“Yes.”

“Then go change, and we’ll talk.”

Fives changes and a whole lot of meddling later, and he was considered ‘lunch worthy’. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t worth it. He had just ended up in jeans and a blue shirt with Lister’s jumper on top, after a comment from Crawford that Lister would probably like that. They had messed up his hair though to make it curlier, which he wouldn’t have done. And Lister liked men with curly hair, so that was good.

He licked his lips and gave his hair one last ruffle, despite how strange it felt. If he had worked out that he liked men earlier on, would he have gotten more dates? Had more luck with people and sex? Probably not, he had to admit. He was still Arnold Rimmer, and he had still been close enough to home for his parents to have found out if he had started dating men. A part of him still feared news somehow getting back home, he shook the thought away. No one had been able to contact the outside world since they’d arrived, the signal here was all kinds of fucked-up. Though it was fine calling other people in the town though… whatever. Rimmer wasn’t a technician, he didn’t know how these things worked.

He adjusted the collar of his shirt, making sure it wasn’t caught in the jumper and walked away from the Lab.

Vending machine 56 was the only vending machine that sold food that wasn’t just soup and curries. This one sold sandwiches and hot chocolate instead, which they had decided would be a nice change.

“I’m glad it fits properly. I was worried I made it too small,” were Lister’s first words to him.

“How did you get it so close to my size anyway?”

“Cat. He has a good eye for these things.”

Rimmer wasn’t sure why he had bothered asking.

That annoyed thought disappeared once Lister had curled his fingers around Rimmer’s arm, however, just like before. Lister squeezed him and smiled. Rimmer swallowed loudly, and they began to walk.

“By the way, if you feel like someone’s following us, don’ panic… or, maybe panic a little.”

“Uh, why?”

“I have a feeling Kryten might follow us.”

“Why does your intern care about us getting lunch?”

“He can get a little… protective over me, even though he’s younger than me. After I told him that we were meeting up he wouldn’ stop whining about how you aren’ ‘good enough’ for me.”

Lister huffed and rolled his eyes.

“You think I am?” Rimmer asked before his brain could process what a stupid thing that would be to say.

Lister looked away and smiled.

“I wouldn’ be here if I didn’ think so, would I?”

“I couldn’t even pass my GSCEs on my first try,” he blurted out.

“And I couldn’ pass my A levels,” Lister shrugged, “Don’ get all caught up about it.”

“Yes, but-“

“Rimmer, if I wanted to have lunch with a scientist, I would have had lunch with a scientist. But I didn’. So shut up, yeah?”

Rimmer nodded. He wasn’t good at being quiet, but he was good at doing as he was told, so maybe he would be able to keep quiet this one time.

“Wha’s your favourite way to draw?” Lister asked. “I like using charcoal, but it gets everywhere.”

Rimmer immediately disregarded Lister’s previous order and began to talk.

Talking with Lister made it feel both like the world would never end and you would just be locked in that conversation with him forever, and that the world was coming to an end and would explode as soon as you both ran out of things to say. For once though, Rimmer wasn’t afraid of the inevitable, and let the conversation flow. Lister didn’t care about Risk or Morris dancing, but he was happy to let Rimmer gush on about them. And Rimmer didn’t particularly want to know the rules of Zero-G, but he still listened.

He did, however, appreciate listening to Lister tell him that ‘your hair looks nice like tha’, by the way. Really suits you’. And even though he had food poisoning the next day and received thirteen notes that were most definitely not from Kryten telling him to 'leave Mr Lister alone', nothing could tarnish the way Lister had said ‘we should do this again sometime’ before he left for the night.

Not even the applause and cheering from the scientists as we walked to his room.


	11. Rimmer Goes Bowling Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rimmer goes bowling with Lister and his friends.
> 
> In case this isn't clear, my Kockanski is based more off of Kockhanski, with a little bit of alternative Kockanski sprinkled in. Also, because I don't think I said so in the chapter focused on him, McIntyre is the hologram from the very first Red Dwarf episode.

After further investigation, Rimmer conclusively, scientifically decided that Olaf Peterson was indeed the most normal person in Red Dwarf. And possibly, the drunkest.

Lister could have perhaps beat them for the first title of it weren’t for his interest in Rimmer.

“Come bowling with me and my friends, I’ll be fun.”

It sounded like an innocently painful request at first. Just suffer through a few awkward hours of interacting with Lister’s weird friends, hope he didn’t completely cock up when it was his time to bowl, all for one happy Lister. And if he was lucky, perhaps a hug or kiss before they left for the night. Unfortunately, the night was turning out to be more painful and less innocent. 

“I’ll jus' go get us some drinks; my friends will probably be here in a sec.”

Rimmer had watched as Lister swayed off to the bar, only to have his view rudely blocked. And this was how he both reached his scientific conclusion and met Lister’s friends.

There was Chen and Selby, who were indeed two heads on one body. Neither seemed to have a complaint about this, despite them definitely starting out as two separate people, according to Lister.

“It was the strangest thing, dear listeners. One minute, we’re in the pub, laughing loudly and they’re clearly two separate people. They get up to use the bathroom, there’s a flash of flight in the hallway and bam! They come back as one… it’s almost romantic, in a way.”

They seemed to think so too, or so Rimmer assumed from the golden rings worn on both hands. Or maybe they were both just so consistently drunk that they didn’t have the brain cells to care about being attached anymore.

There was Kristine Kochanski of course, the boss and the ex, a short Scottish woman with a pair of white and gold wings that hovered near her back. Rimmer wasn’t sure if they were functional wings or just for show, but either way, he had to admit that they were rather beautiful.

There was Frank Todhunter, who was the mayor’s secretary, a man with purple eyes, large teeth and tentacles for hands who couldn’t actually speak English. He just made garbles and growls, and everyone par Rimmer understood him perfectly.

Then, there was Yvonne McGruder, the one who actually looked the most human out of the lot. She was just a short, smiley, muscled Irish woman. If her veins were any giveaway, her then blood was probably pink, and she had superhuman levels of strength, but those were minor oddities.

And of course, there was Peterson and McIntyre, who was wearing a bowling shirt… somehow.

The group sat on the bench opposite Rimmer, the fakest smiles they could manage in their faces. Peterson sat on the same side of Rimmer, preoccupied with emptying their bottle, and McIntyre floated behind the others, grinning widely. Rimmer licked his lips and smiled back.

“A-Ah. You must be Lister’s friends. Lovely to meet you all.”

Kochanski pursed her lips and looked him up and down. Rimmer squirmed in his seat, beginning to wonder if he had somehow worn the wrong clothes. Sure, Lister had said anything, but considering he had yet to see Lister in anything but his work outfit, he wasn’t sure if Lister actually knew anything about appropriate dress wear. He was still in the same jeans and waistcoat as he had been the day they met. The shirt had definitely changed though; this one had coffee stains on it.

He dug his nails into his hands after he realised he’d phased out for a few seconds.

“Pardon?” He asked.

“I said…,” Kochanski began, “How good’s your aim?’

"Huh?”

“We’re playing in teams tonight, so: how good is your aim?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never been bowling.”

She frowned at him.

“Alright, Todhunter, you can have him.”

Todhunter made a few distressed noises and waved his tentacles about a bit. It was rather disturbing looking, but Rimmer knew it was impolite to stare, so looked away.

“Oh, calm down,” she huffed, “I mean, you never know. He could be amazing.”

Todhunter crossed his tentacles and made a few quieter noises.

Rimmer scanned his eyes over the group, most of them focused on Todhunter and his little tantrum. There were two still looking at him though. McGruder with a blush on her cheeks and a smile on her face, and Peterson beside him. He began to desperately wish he had something to distract him. Luckily, it was then than McGruder snapped out of her funk and stood up, waving wildly.

“OI! LISTER!”

Rimmer winced. The woman had no volume control whatsoever. The discomfort died down, however, when Lister’s laugh sounded behind him, and a drink was placed in front of him.

“Hi McGruder,” he chuckled, “I was beginning to worry you lot had got stuck in the time loop on Trojan Street again.”

“T’AT WAS ONE TIME, AND IT WASN’T MY FAULT! MCINTYRE READ T’E DIRECTIONS WRONG!”

“No, I read them right,” he argued with a smirk, “I just said them wrong.”

“OH, YOU BITCH! WE WE’RE STUCK T’ERE FOR HOURS!”

McIntyre burst into laughter while McGruder scowled at him. Kochanski just rolled her eyes and put a hand on the other woman’s arm.

“Let it go Vonnie, you know you can fight him anyway.”

McGruder huffed and pouted. Lister cleared his throat though, and she seemed to cheer up a bit.

“Right, so wha’ are we doing about teams?”

“Toadie’s got you, Rimmer and McIntyre, I got Chen, Selby and Vonnie,” Kochanski explained.

”…I can’t help but feel like we’re at a severe disadvantage,“ Rimmer mused.

Kochanski just shrugged.

"Toadie lost a bet; blame him.”

Todhunter gargled, and Kochanski laughed. Meanwhile, Rimmer wondered if they did a class here in Tentaclish. It could be useful for him to actually understand what the other man was saying.

“You need to stop betting against her man, you always lose,” Lister sighed, “But, whatever. Let’s go get our shoes and get this show on the road!”

Rimmer had not been informed beforehand that bowling involved wearing old hideous shoes that had been worn by many before him. And if he had, he probably wouldn’t have come.

He held up on the offending items with a grimace, dreading putting it anywhere near his feet.

“Why do you even need to wear special shoes for bowling? I’m just throwing a ball at the ground, not climbing Mout Everest." 

Lister just rolled his eyes as he tied the laces on his own pair.

“So you don’ track dirt onto the lanes and damage them, ain' it’?”

“They’re also better for bowling than normal shoes,” Kochanski added.

“How?!” Rimmer asked.

She shrugged as Lister got up and walked to the bar.

“I don’t know. I’m not a shoe scientist.”

Rimmer went back to scowling at his shoes. Then the others. They clearly had ones they’d bought themselves. Their's looked shiny and clean, hardly worn at all, while his looked three centuries too old. And then he was hit in the face by a pair of socks.

He scowled and picked them up.

“What the fuck Lister?”

“Bought them from the bar; you still have to wear the manky shoes, but I think having another layer between you and ‘em might make it better.”

The scowl slid off his face as those annoying stomach butterflies made their grand entrance, followed by a strange ache in my chest. He didn’t understand it, so just said his thanks and got ready.

“Bit better?” Lister asked.

“…Yes,” Rimmer admitted.

Lister shot him with a pinball smile.

“Brutal.”

Rimmer made a note to swallow pesticide when he got home.


	12. Rimmer Goes Bowling Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rimmer gets hit on and threatened. Also, fuck cheese.

Despite all his theatrics earlier, Todhunter seemed happy to show Rimmer the ropes.

  
He absolutely didn’t help because, well, tentacles, but Rimmer appreciated the effort. Or, well, he pretended he did. He was too disturbed by being up close and personal with Todhunter’s… everything to be appreciative.

  
What he appreciated more, however, was when Lister took over.

  
“Why don’ you fetch the drinks and snacks Toadie, I’ll finish explaining for you.”

  
Todhunter nodded, made a strange noise, and wandered off. Just as Rimmer relaxed, happy to no longer be watching those tentacles and suckers working up close, Lister slid up close behind him.

  
Lister wasn’t touching him yet, but he was close enough for Rimmer to feel his body heat and breath. His lip quivered a little and he willed his blush away.

  
“Might have to get closer to show you how to do it, you mind?” Lister asked.

  
“Not at all m-milladdo, go ahead.”

  
One hand landed on his hip, the other on his right hand, and Lister’s chin rested on his shoulder.

  
“So, it’s pretty easy actually. For your first time, the big thing is gonna be the weight. It’s gonna weigh way more than you’re thinking, so it’s a good idea to get used to it before your throw.”

They were standing right next to the balls, so it was easy for Lister to direct his hand over to one.

  
He went through steps and tricks slowly and carefully, using his radio voice in a move that Rimmer felt was utterly unfair. At least the surprising weight of the bowling ball distracted him somewhat from the voice. Why the fuck were they so heavy?

  
He ended up having the first bowl, Lister holding on and guiding him through it the whole time. Two were knocked over.

  
“Hey, tha’s pretty good for your first try,” Lister insisted, “The first time I went bowling I only hit one the whole night.”

  
Rimmer snorted, watching as the two pins he knocked down were pulled off the land by two shadowy hands.

  
“What, were you aiming for the ceiling or something?”

  
“Might have got two if I tried tha',” Lister chuckled as he pulled them towards their table.

  
Peterson, who was sat opposite them, was on their fifth bottle, and upon looking down, Rimmer realised they weren't wearing bowling shoes either.

  
“Um, not playing old chum?”

  
He winced at his wording. And winced, even more, when Peterson lifted their head to scowl at him. But then they dropped their head to the table, on its side so they could see the lanes, and Rimmer relaxed.

  
“What’s up with them?”

  
Lister shrugged, a strange smile on his face.

  
“Nothing new.”

  
Rimmer let it go and turned his attention back to the lanes.

  
After ten minutes, it began clear that he had indeed been right; their team was at a severe disadvantage.

  
Todhunter couldn’t hold the ball probably at all, he himself had never done this before, McIntyre (while having the ability to hold the ball, which was more than Rimmer was expecting) couldn’t keep his grip for more than a few seconds, and Lister-

  
Well, Lister was absolutely fine. He wasn’t as good as McGruder, who was the reigning queen, but he held his own. Rimmer almost felt bad for him having such a shitty team. But then again, Lister had been the one to pick their team name (The Boyz from the Dwarf), so he couldn’t feel all that sorry for him.

  
Despite all this Rimmer had to reluctantly admit something; he was having fun.

  
It was fun seeing Lister’s bright grin and yell ‘get in!’ every time he got a good score, it was fun watching McGruder punch the air and cheer so loudly that she spooked the other people, it was fun seeing Todhunter give up on the rules completely and kick the ball down the lane, it was fun seeing McIntyre steal away pins in the middle of someone’s turn and start juggling them-

  
It was fun. They were weird. This was weird. But it was a fun kind of a weird. The mood was, admittedly, somewhat ruined by Peterson who just sat, drank and ate, but nobody seemed concerned about it. A rub on the back, a quick 'you doing okay?’, and then they’d sprint off again as if nothing was wrong. And if no one else was going to treat it like a problem, neither was he.

  
Mostly, because he had far bigger problems to deal with.

  
“SO, RIMMER,” McGruder began, “LISTER SAID YOU’RE FROM CHELTENHAM.”

  
Rimmer nodded cautiously.

  
“Uh, yeah.”

  
“SOUNDS FANCY.”

  
“It is.”

  
She whistled so loudly that Rimmer’s ears began to ring and dogs began barking outside.

  
“WHAT’S IT LIKE OVER T’ERE? I’VE NEVER BEEN TO ENGLAND.”

  
Rimmer shrugged, beginning to wish Lister would hurry back with their drinks already.

  
“Boring, cold, and filled with old white Catholic ladies who really want to know if you have a girlfriend yet.”

  
“OH! DO YOU?”

  
She fluttered her eyes.

  
“I- uh-“

  
Kochanski saved the day, sliding in behind McGruder.

  
“Vonnie, it’s your turn.”

  
McGruder pouted but did get up.

  
“BE BACK IN A TIC.”

  
Kochanski stole her place and offered a smile.

  
“Sorry, she doesn’t understand the idea of ‘subtlety’… she also doesn’t understand that you… have your interests… somewhere else.”

  
Rimmer swallowed and blushed.

  
“W-What do you mean by that?”

  
She raised an eyebrow. He had never seen a person actually do that in real life, he mused, it was a lot stranger than it seemed in books and movies.

  
“You like Lister.”

  
Rimmer choked on his breath.

  
“N-Now listen here, I-”

  
“You do,” she insisted, “So let me just say this; don’t be a dick. He deserves better than that. If you don’t…”

  
She gave a large grin, her eyes glowing as white as the sharp fangs protruding for her mouth.

  
Rimmer coughed.

  
“Do you threaten everyone you’ve just met?”

  
“No, you’re the exception.”

  
“Oh, lucky me,” he huffed, “Are you sure I should be taking advice from _you_ about Lister anyway?”

  
The glow and fangs disappeared, replaced with a scowl.

  
“Low blow.”

  
“I never said I was above them.”

  
She pursed her lips then sighed.

  
“Look, just look after him, yeah?”

  
McGruder screamed so loudly that a couple of glasses shattered, and Kochanski snickered.

  
“You winning over there?”

  
“YOU BET YOUR ASS I AM, KRIS! THE SLIME’S BRINGING HOME THE TROPHY.”

  
“We don’t have any trophies,” Kochanski pointed out with a laugh, “But we could make the loser team buy the winners some nachos.”

  
“Aye, now that’s an idea, ain’t it, Selby?” Chen asked with a smirk.

  
“Sounds a good one to me,” Selby agreed.

  
Todhunter grumbled, tentacles flailing about.

  
“That’s not fair,” Rimmer argued, “You know you’re going to win!”

  
“All’s fair in love and war,” Kochanski smirked, “Get your wallets ready boys, I’m feeling like the cheesy deluxe option.”

  
“Really? But it’s so disgusting,” Lister grumbled upon his return, “Nothing needs to have _that_ much cheese.”

  
“It’s not my fault you have no taste,” she huffed.

  
“You like cheese with pineapple. Pineapple! You don’ mix fruit and cheese, Kris!”

  
“I’m not listening to the opinion of a man who only has two taste buds left and risks them by eating curry every day.”

  
“Hey, you leave me two taste buds out of this, they’re trying their best!”

  
But even with Lister’s two taste buds trying their best, their team still lost. Kochanski smirked and made eye contact with Lister the whole time while eating, and Lister mimicked gagging.

  
For the first time in his life, Rimmer realised, he wasn’t upset that he had lost.

“You had fun?” Lister asked on the car ride home.

  
“More than I thought I would,” he admitted.

  
Lister let out a breath.

  
“Tha’s good. I was… well...”

  
“What?”

  
“I guess a part of me was worried that you felt like you had to come, you know?”

  
Rimmer held back that he did, through no fault of Lister’s own.

  
He had to come to spend time with Lister.

  
He had to come to make a good impression on Lister’s friends.

  
He had to come to make a good impression on Lister.

  
He had to come because he wanted to. Even if he also didn’t want to. Emotions, he mused, were confusing. It would probably be easier if they didn’t exist.

  
But then Lister took one hand off the wheel to find Rimmer’s, and he took that thought back. Even if it was easier, it wouldn’t be worth it. Convenience wasn’t worth losing this, the spark in his heart upon the touch of Lister’s hand.

  
“That’s probably dangerous,” he gasped out.

  
Lister shrugged, a smirk on his face.

  
“Probably,” he agreed, “But everyone needs a little danger in their lives. Keeps things interesting.”

  
Rimmer watched the way the streetlight beams danced over Lister’s features, and wet his lips.

  
“I suppose they do.”


	13. Rimmer Makes a Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rimmer learns a slightly disturbing fact about Red Dwarf and makes a decision.

Rimmer opened the door to his room after a long day’s work, to find it already unlocked, and the room occupied.

He sighed and walked in.

“Alright, who’s in here this time? If it’s you again McIntyre, I’m calling Lister! And you still haven’t replaced the cereal you stole! You know that’s a crime milladdo, I could report you for that!”

“Not McIntyre.”

Sitting at the kitchen table, was Peterson. Rimmer sighed again. 

“Why are you here?” Rimmer asked. “And can you please leave? There’s a documentary about Napoleon Bonaparte and the possibility of him being a time-travelling bear on in about fifteen minutes, and I’d hate to miss it.”

“…Why are you still here?” Peterson asked.

“What, do you want me to go get the police so they can come escort you out?”

“No, I mean… where are you still in Red Dwarf? You’ve nearly been here a month.”

Rimmer frowned.

“Because I have a job here?”

“So? You can get one outside of here.”

"Not easily,” Rimmer admitted.

He doubted he could get far with a handful of barely passing GSCE grades.

“You could manage it,” Peterson insisted.

“Why do you want me gone?”

“Because soon enough, you won’t be able to leave.”

Rimmer bit his lip, and after a moment of thought, sat down at the opposite end of the table.

“What do you mean?”

Peterson sighed, took a big gulp of their beer, then turned their red eyes back on Rimmer.

“If you stay here too long, you won’t ever be able to go back. Believe me, I tried.” When Rimmer stayed silent, Peterson sighed and spoke again. “I was a truck driver, before. I was supposed to take a delivery to a town not that far from here, but got pished on the way and ended up driving drunk. I crashed and when I woke up, I was in Red Dwarf medical bay. I was fucked up beyond belief and stuck there for what felt like a lifetime, worrying about my job, my friends, my parents… I tried calling them, but phones don’t really work here. By the time I was technically free to leave, I couldn’t. Every time I made it three miles away from Red Dwarf, everything would go black and I’d end up back here. Been stuck ever since.”

The thought was terrifying for a second, having to spend out the rest of his life in this hell hole of a town. But…

“There’s nothing out there for me,” Rimmer found himself saying, “No job, no home, no friends, no family… there’s no reason to leave.”

“You could make reasons,” Peterson argued.

Rimmer thought of Crawford's laughter every time he ran away during a field study, he thought of ugly bowling shoes, he thought of disappearing pencils, vending machines that argued back, of cereal-stealing ghosts, of floating german cats, and he thought of Lister. Of Lister's smiles, of Lister's laughs, of his tight grip and radio voice.

“…I don’t think I want to.”

Peterson sighed and emptied their bottle.

“You’ll regret it.”

“I won’t.”

Peterson pursed their lips, then dropped their head to the table. Rimmer kept his eyes on them as he got up Lister’s number.

“Rimmer! Good timing, I was jus’ about to call you!” Lister said. “You haven’ seen Peterson anywhere, have you? ‘Cause I-“

“They're here.”

“Oh, good,” Lister sighed, “Not giving you any trouble, are they?”

“No.”

“Okay, good. I’ll be there in a second-”

“Lister?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Is Peterson telling the truth? Is it possible to leave Red Dwarf, or are we all stuck here?”

For a few seconds, all Rimmer could hear was the rumble of cars as they passed.

“…Yes. I-I think so at least. I’ve never tried to leave.”

“Right.”

“I’m sorry, I shoulda told you, but I guess I… I didn’ think about it. None of us really ever think about leaving, so it’s not a big deal to us… would you prefer if someone else went over there to get Peterson?”

Rimmer took a moment to think. It wasn’t just Lister’s fault he hadn’t known until now, nobody else had said anything either. Not any of the people who were involved in planning the move, nobody.

“No, it’s fine. You can come.”

Lister let out a quiet breathy laugh.

“I’ll be there now.”

He didn’t stick around. He just gave Rimmer a small smile, grabbed Peterson, then left.

A few hours later, Rimmer was hanging around the lab, watching as the scientists as they watched Crawford desperately try to shake off a Polymorph that had attached itself to her side.

_“-so, someone will probably kill me for this_,” Lister began, _“But I feel I should mention this, for our new scientist friends.” _

The Polymorph was ignored as everyone turned the radio.

_“It’s… it’s very possible tha' if you stay here much longer, you won’ ever be able to leave again. I can’ tell you why, I honestly don’ know the answer myself, but it is wha' it is. If you try now, you might be able to get home. I’m sorry… and now a little number called I Am My Own Dad, by Rob Ross.” _

Almost immediately, a good chunk of the scientists scrambled out of the lab, and a few minutes later, some truck started up and drove off.

Edington took a deep breath and sat down, a frown on her face. Lanstrom glared at the radio, arms crossed, lips pulled into a tight line. Crawford sat on the edge of the table, holding the Polymorph in her lap.

“You three aren’t leaving?” Rimmer asked.

“This is the only place I’ve ever been taken seriously as a scientist,” Edington shrugged. 

"A scientist doesn’t abandon her work just because the situation has changed,” Lanstrom sniffed.

“I just unpacked all my shit; I’m not fucking packing it all back up again,” Crawford snapped.

It earned an ease smile from Edgington, and even the corner of Lanstrom’s lips twitched.

“I’m more surprised that you’re staying, Rimmer,” Edington admitted, “I thought you’d be the first to leave.”

“I’ve met his family,” Crawford cut in, “Believe me, the Polymorphs are the lesser evil.”

By the next morning, only five scientists remained.

“Well, at least there’ll be fewer dishes to clean,” he said.

“Yes,” Crawford agreed before chucking a tea towel at his face, “But that does now mean you’re on drying duty for tonight.”

“Dammit.”


	14. Rimmer Drinks Cola

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lister invites Rimmer out to go catch some fireflies, and Rimmer learns a little more about his companion. 
> 
> Also, I will include every RD character in here if it kills me. Which it probably will. Oh well.

Science, Rimmer concluded, wasn't half bad. Especially when it led to him receiving notes like this:

**ZG pitch 11 pm x**

"_I've been getting into science a lot more lately,_" Lister announced an hour later, _"I must admit though, dear listeners, tha' physics and chemistry are boring as smeg. Completely and utterly boring. I like animal science though, tha's fun. And I'm actually going to do some tonight, with Rimmer. Wish us luck. And now onto the traffic report. The windows are slow, and the clouds are whispering. Wha' are they saying? Nobody really knows. They speak in tongues long forgotten by all and ache for the day where they will be remembered and feared once again. So, traffic's gonna be a bit slow today. Take the bus, it's better for the environment anyway. It doesn' exist, but if you're lucky you may catch it.'_

10:30 saw Rimmer having a staring match with the mirror. He lost five seconds later. After accepting this defeat, he sneaked a hand up to sort out his hair. It was slapped away.

"You look fine, Rimmer, leave your hair be," Edgington insisted, "And please change out of the red, you look horrible in it."

"You're looking good too, Irene," Rimmer huffed.

"Get over it you big baby," Crawford told him, "She's right, red absolutely isn't your colour. Try green or blue."

"Since when have you two been experts on colour theory?" Rimmer snapped. "Do you even own any shirts that aren't black, Crawford?"

"No, because you don't fix what's not broken. You in red is terribly broken."

"Doctor Lanstrom, can't you, as their superior, tell them to kindly fuck off?"

She didn't even look away from the sample she was investigating.

"I don't give a shit about your predicament, move on."

Rimmer sniffed.

"Glad to know I'm working with such a delightful group of people."

"It's tough love," Edgington announced, "We're only trying to help."

"How about you wait until I ask for help to give it next time?" Rimmer suggested with a huff.

"If we waited for you to ask, you'd never get help," Crawford argued, "Now put on the navy jumper and get a move on. Better not risk it, and head out early."

"Or try to at least," Eddington said, "It's only supposed to take five minutes to get there, but it took me five hours to get to the front door the other day. Still, it's worth a shot."

"Yes mothers," he huffed.

"There's no need for insults like that. I've met your mother. And I've had viral infections more pleasant than her," Crawford frowned.

Rimmer couldn't argue with that, and so went and changed. He almost wore something green, just to rebel, but gave in to Crawford's suggestion. It was a nice jumper after all...

In the end, it took half an hour to get there, and Lister arrived twenty minutes later.

"Rimmer, man, hi! Weren' here long, were you?"

"Twenty minutes."

"Really? I thought I was on time for once..." Lister frowned and tapped the face of his watch. "Oh. It seems to be randomly skipping to different times... well, sorry man."

"It's fine. What are we doing out here then?"

Lister grinned and reached into his bag, pulling out a small net on a rod, and a glass jar with holes in the lid.

"Firefly fishing. I thought the scientists might find them interesting to study."

"...I feel like there's a twist here somewhere."

"You'll see. Come on, they're by the lake."

He handed the jar over to Rimmer, and the two began their walk.

Rimmer looked around as they walked, musing how strange it was that the red lights of the town that had once freaked him out now seemed pretty and pleasant. The Zero-G pitch, however? That seemed horrifying. Not that he could put his finger on why. He just felt a strange chill slid down his spine, and he wore he could hear quiet, hoarse voices calling his name.

Luckily, they left the pitch behind a minute later, and Rimmer felt himself relax.

"...How many of the scientists left in the end?" Lister asked.

"Ten," Rimmer guessed.

Lister bit his lip and nodded.

"Were you friends with any of them?"

"No. I don't think I even said one word to half of them."

"...I think Kockanski was right, man."

"Oh, what's she been saying about me now?" Rimmer huffed.

"Nothing mean, she jus'... she said you don' really have any friends, and I don' think tha's really healthy, my guy."

"I do have friends," Rimmer sniffed, "I have you... don't I?"

Lister's smile could have burned up a sun.

"Of course you do. I jus' meant, you don' really have anyone but me."

Rimmer thought about it for a few seconds, as the lake came into view.

"...I have Crawford and Edington too. They're both a gigantic pain in the ass, but I think we're friends."

"Oh? Well, tha's great Rimmer. As long as there's more than me... oh, right, here we are!"

The lake was red (of course), surrounded by trees with pitch-black leaves that were covered in an ash-like substance that feel to the ground like snow. The most curious part of this scene though was definitely the fireflies.

"Oh," Rimmer said.

"Yeah," Lister replied.

The fireflies were as big as a two pound coin, shaped more like a blue bottle bug, and made a noise that sounded like quiet humming. Also, they glowed different colours, never sticking with one for more than two seconds.

"Wow."

"Yeah."

Lister handed him the jar and opened it.

"Radioactive fireflies," he explained, "We call them Boomers... or Cat does at least."

"Why, and I am aware I may regret asking this, are they called Boomers?"

"Because after the males fuck they immediately explode."

"Of course they do."

"And their remains are used as food for the female."

"Delightful."

"And once the eggs have hatched, the larvae dig their way under the mother's wings and violently vibrate until they cause her to explode so they can then eat her."

"Can I ask why you know so much about the mating and exploding habits of insects?"

"Cat's learning about them in school."

"They teach this in school?!"

"They teach maths in school too."

"...Fair point."

"Nature is gross, creepy and bizarre; wha' you gonna do? Now, hold the jar so I can catch 'em."

Rimmer watched as Lister carefully pulled the net through the air and covered the opening with his hand. After a moment of inspecting his catch, he walked over to Rimmer.

"It's not mating season and none of them seem to be carrying eggs, so I think we're fine. Open the jar for me?"

For radioactive insects, they seemed surprisingly calm, happy to fly down into the jar and inspect it. They didn't even kick up a fuss when Lister closed the lid and placed the jar on the ground. Lister sat down on the grass to admire them, and Rimmer did the same.

"You do this a lot? Take random people along to help you catch exploding insects?" Rimmer teased.

Lister shrugged, his small smile lit up by the bugs.

"No, I don'... I used to do this with my plans though when they were little. And sometimes I'll take Cat, though he always wants to bat at them."

Rimmer paused as he fully processed what Lister had just said.

"Sons?"

Lister nodded and reached into his pocket, pulling out a picture which he then handed to Rimmer.

It was of Lister with his arms around two young boys, around ten years old if Rimmer had to guess. Lister, somehow, looked older in this picture, with hair cut incredibly short and bags under his eyes. He did look happy though, in his paint-stained overalls and shirt.

"The one on the right is Jim, and the other's Bexley."

The two boys were clearly twins and yet looked very different.

Jim was tall and slim, his skin a similar shade to Lister's, with long, thin dreadlocks dyed purple. His clothes were ripped and torn, but stylishly so. Or, that was the look Rimmer thought he was going for, at least.

Bexley was shorter and fatter, his skin a far darker shade of brown, with his hair pulled back into a bun. He was dressed far neater than his brother, in a simple white dress shirt and jeans, a pair of glasses perched on his nose.

"...Wow."

Somehow, the thought of Lister being a father was unbelievably... and yet, very believable. Rimmer would have never guessed in a million years if he hasn't been told, but now that he had, he supposed it fit.

"They're an... interesting pair, aren't they?"

Lister chuckled as he took the photo back.

"Aren' they jus'? Jim's an adrenaline junky wannabe-rockstar, and Bexley's a bookworm with an interest in mechanics and physics."

"They sound wonderful."

Lister brushed his thumb over the photo.

"They are."

He gently put it back in his pocket and turned back to Rimmer.

"How old are they now?"

These were the typical 'you have a child I just found out about' talking points, right?

"Well, they should be nineteen, but uh... Red Dwarf pulled her magic once again because their ageing, it's... it's all over the place. They should be nineteen, yet they look older than me."

"Oh."

"They still act nineteen though, and everyone still treats them like they're nineteen, but it's... hard to deal with, you know? Even now..."

"Did something happen?"

"Kind of... I... I sent them away."

"Really?"

That didn't really seem to line up in Rimmer's head.

"If they stayed here they were jus' gonna keep ageing, so when I found a way to get them out of Red Dwarf, I took it. They visit regularly, but can' stay for more than three weeks."

"I'm..." Rimmer paused. Sorry didn't feel right. It never did in his mind, but especially not here. "Sounds tough."

"It is," Lister admitted, "But they're happy, and tha's wha' matters... smeg, sorry about all tha'. Look, I know I jus' ruined the mood, but the night is still red and I packed a picnic if you'd like to stick around."

Rimmer pursed his lips.

"What did you pack?"

"Chocolate cake and cherry cola."

"Zero?"

"Of course, I'm not an animal."

"You bastard," Rimmer sighed, "Now I have to stay."

Lister laughed and began setting out their little picnic.

Rimmer had the strangest urge to bring up the sudden change in conversation and comfort Lister but had absolutely no idea how. Besides, he told himself, if Lister had wanted comfort or to carry on talking about it, he wouldn't have changed the conversation. Maybe a distraction was all he needed.

Still, once they had their plate and cake settle on their laps, and Lister had his eyes to the fireflies, Rimmer's hand reach out. He only got as far as touching Lister's little finger with his own, but as Lister linked them together, he supposed that could be enough.


	15. Rimmer Embraces Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rimmer reflects on Lister, his father, danger and art.
> 
> I know this is (maybe?) a lot shorter than the other ones, but I didn't really feel like anything else needed to be said. Also, they don't give Mr. Rimmer a first name, and I was listening to the new Lana Del Rey album while writing this, so Norman it is.

As Rimmer lay in bed one night, he thought about the juxtaposition of Lister and danger.

  
Lister was, in his own way, very dangerous. Through no fault of his, mind you, but he was.

  
Some things he did played into this; the place he lived, leather he wore, the motorbike he rode and the butterfly knife he owned, but.

But.

  
His leathers were covered in colourful patches and badges, his motorbike was strangely lumpy and green, and he used his knife to open tins of cat food for Frankenstein.  
Everything that could scream dangerous instead screamed 'strange, unusual, and ultimately harmless'.

  
There was still a danger when it came to Lister though. Specifically, with how he made Rimmer... feel.

  
Rimmer scowled at the ceiling.

  
Feel. He hated that word. He didn't want to feel, point-blank. And he especially didn't want to feel anything for Lister. And yet...

  
He turned his head to look at the picture of Lister and Frankenstein that still glowed as brightly as ever in the dark. His heart sped up just looking at it.

  
Rimmer knew if his father was here, he would be screaming his head off at him, the noise all gibberish over the screaming of his mother, and the laughing and scoffing of his brothers. Except maybe Howard. Howard was just as pathetic as him, and in no real place to criticise him. Maybe he would try, but all Rimmer would have to do is look at him, and he'd shut up.

  
He sighed and turned around completely to face the wall of pictures.

  
It always came back to them, didn't it? Even a million miles away, with no way for them to contact him or vice versa, it always came back to them. More specifically, him.   
Norman Alexander Rimmer. His father, the one who gave nothing and expected everything in return.

  
With a frown, he went through the memories of his father, watching them flash behind his eyes like the home family movies they never made. He watched how he was never good enough, no matter what he did, how hard he tried. He saw himself crying under covers, in cupboards, in trees, in cars, and on and on...

  
And then he stopped himself.

  
He instead thought of the gasp Edington let out the first time they met when she caught a glimpse of his sketchbook. He thought of Crawford's nod as she put his sketch of the Polymorph in with the report, about her comment of 'nice work, kid'. He thought of Cat's insistent tugs on his sleeves, begging for another drawing of him to put on his wall. And, of course, he thought of Lister. Of him and his dangerous bright eyes, his dangerous smiles and compliments, and the dangerous ways he made him feel.

A memory floated to mind of his father, of being ten years old and told 'You're never going to find a wife if you act like that, Rimmer'.

  
And no, Rimmer decided, he wasn't. But if he acted like that, maybe he could have a stable job, strange friends who helped him look his best, a chance to finally draw without fear, and maybe, if he was lucky, a man to love.

  
Everything he had ever loved had been dangerous in the other man's eyes: art, friendship, feelings, and... well, men.

  
Yes, Lister was dangerous, but as he had said, everyone needed a little bit of danger now and then. And Rimmer decided that he was long overdue for a dose of danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's revealed in season 11 (I think) that the gardener was Rimmer's birth father, but I think I prefer the idea of Rimmer overcoming his issues with Mr. Rimmer without the quick fix of 'oh wait he isn't actually your dad so you don't have to care what he thinks about you, because he isn't your birth dad'. And he definitely hasn't overcome all his issues by the end of this, but it's a start.


	16. Rimmer Discovers Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edington has a crisis, and Lister helps out.

Rimmer chewed his toast as he watched the scene before him Crawford and Langston stood on either side of Edgington, who was sat down and gazing despairingly at the mess of wires in the table

"Alright, let's try this," Crawford suggested, "Edgington, can you count from one to ten for me?"

Crawford's voice was a lot softer than usual, and her typical blasé expression now schooled into one of concern. Rimmer might have called it sweet if he didn't know the reason for her concern. But since he did, it was just concerning.

Edington nodded and sniffed. She looked a mess today, her glasses crooked and upside down, her hair messy, eyes red and her face, splotchy and wet.

"Ten, nine-"

She cut herself off to hide her face in her arms, and Crawford rubbed her back. Rimmer wasn't sure if it helped, but he did give her a pat on the head.

She sniffed.

"Thanks."

"Any idea what's causing this Lanstrom?" Crawford asked.

Lanstrom shook her head, continuing to rifle through all their folders and notes with a frown on her face.

"Nothing yet."

Rimmer swallowed his bite of toast and put the plate down.

"It might just be a case of Red Dwarf madness," he said, "I mean, Lister said his sons started rapidly ageing for no explanation one day, and there's no way Cat actually willed himself into being more human."

Crawford twisted her lips up as she thought.

"So what you're saying is, that this might just be a side effect from living in Red Dwarf for so long?"

"I mean, you said before that there are high levels of radiation here, right? It could be that you've become infected by the radiation, and it affects everyone in slightly different ways."

"I don't think radiation can make you think and say the opposite of everything you actually want to do or say," Lanstrom scoffed.

Rimmer rolled his eyes.

"And cats aren't supposed to float in the air and quote German fables backwards, what's your point?"

Crawford looked towards Lanstrom.

"He does have a strong argument."

Lanstrom sighed and stopped her searching, looking over to the small group at the table.

"Fine! Fine, but if that's the case, what the hell do we do? I don't think there's an easy ten-step guide to fixing Red Dwarf radiation that we can just follow."

"I mean, I could call Lister."

"Now's not the time to call your boyfriend, Mr Rimmer."

"Don't call me that, he's not my boyfriend, and come on, he's been here for ages, he has hands-on experience with it through his sons and Cat... I mean, it's worth a shot, right?"

It wasn't.

_"Sorry Rimmer, I don' think I can do anything. I couldn' stop my sons from changing, I couldn' stop Cat from changing, so... what could I do? The only idea I have is getting her out of here, out of Red Dwarf. You might still manage it, and things might be fine if she leaves."_

"But what if it doesn't?" Edington retorted. "And suddenly I'm stuck as this freak on the outside?"

_"You're not a freak,_" Lister assured her (radio voice on, Rimmer noticed),_ "Or at least, no more than anyone else here. And it's not the end of the world, I promise. You can still do your job and be happy."_

"How?"

_"Well, you're probably is everything you say is the opposite, right?"_

"A lot of things, at least. I'm not talking backwards yet," she sniffed.

_"Well, then all you need is someone beside you to note down your findings or whatever in the right order. Because if what you say is absolutely wrong, then the opposite must be absolutely correct, right?"_

"...I'm not the one saying everything the opposite way and even I'm getting confused," Crawford muttered, "Do we have any paracetamol on hand? I think I'm going to have a raging headache by the time this is over."

Lanstrom pulled a packet from her pocket and slid it over.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

_"So,"_ Lister sighed, _"Could that be enough? Until you figure something out, I mean. I know it must seem scary, but you're not alone, you know? We're all one big fucked-up family of freaks, and if you need help, there's always someone there ready to give it."_

Edington sniffed and managed a small smile.

"I still think I need a day off but... I do feel a lot better. Thanks, Lister."

_"Any time Edington, and I mean that. Feel free to call at any time, even if I'm on air. I got a dozen songs I can chuck on to give us some time, and it always pisses off Kockhanski, which is a bonus."_

Edington actually managed a small laugh at that, and Rimmer found himself marginally awed by Lister.

"Well, if it annoys someone, I'll have to do it. You know me, troublemaker, through and through."

_"Atta girl, that's more like it... unfortunately, I think Kockanski will actually kill me if I loop Hallelujah played on the trumpet for the third time in a row, so I better go."_

"Have a nice day Lister."

_"You too."_

Rimmer felt a little miffed he had no goodbye, but he supposed he could just call up later and get one then. He couldn't fight back the smile that appeared with the knowledge that, yes, he could just do that now. He could call Lister whenever he liked.

"Feel a bit better now?" Crawford asked.

Edington nodded.

"Yeah, I do actually. Not enough to go back to work, but enough to not get blackout drunk and cry in my bed all day."

"Why don't we all have a break today?" Crawford suggested. "We can get some takeaway and watch some shitty movies in our pyjamas."

"That sounds great."

"I suppose I'll allow it," Lanstrom sighed, "But if you dare sneak The Bee Movie into the mix, I'm firing you all. Directly into the sun."

"Killjoy," Crawford huffed.

The three women got up and began to make a move. Rimmer picked up his cold toast and sighed.

One day he would have warm food, one day.

"Rimmer?"

He blinked and turned to face Crawford, who was hovering in the doorway.

"Are you coming or not?"

"You want me to join in?"

"Well, I have to have someone to blame when The Bee Movie plays."

Rimmer abandoned his toast with a grin and followed her into the kitchen.

He was not, depsite Lanstrom's threat, forcibly fired into the sun, and he did finally get his goodbye from Lister before bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, Edington is becoming more like her canon self.


	17. Rimmer Learns a Meaning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crawford and Edington adopt an abomination, and Rimmer learns about the meaning of his name.

"Crawford, you can't call her Batholemew!"

  
Crawford ignored this as she wrote BATHOLEMEW on the side of a cupboard box before placing an old cushion in it.

  
"And why not?"

  
"It's such an ugly name," Edington insisted.

  
Crawford gave her a look.

  
"Have you seen this bitch? It's an abomination, a complete disgrace. It deserves an ugly name."

  
She picked up the Polymorph - Bartholomew - and placed her in her new bed. Bartholomew made what Lister had confirmed was a pleased noise, and settled down.

_"I don’t think I’ve ever seen a happier Polymorph than the one down at the Lab, I tell you. She’s clunking all the time, rolling about, and she loves getting hugs. Also, leek and potato soup. So, I guess McIntyre and her have a lot in common.”_

  
_“Bitch.”_

  
_“Aren’ you supposed to be writing a speech?”_

  
_“I’m dead and I do as I please.”_

_“Fine, have it your way. But if Hollister comes bounding in and tries to drag you away by his teeth, I’m not helping you.”_

  
Lister had been helpful in other ways when it came to Crawford’s strange Polymorph.

  
He could tell it was a girl because ‘she has only has one row of teeth. The males have three, like a shark, while the girls only have one to kind of… help them to avoid accidentally killing their kids while cleaning them?’. He could tell she had no family because ‘you see that scar going down her head? Shows she was the runt of the litter, and the fathers always try to get rid of the runts. So, they try to claw down their heads. And if it doesn’t kill them, it has the added bonus of marking her, warning off other Polymorph’s, letting them know that she’s a runt.

  
Rimmer felt strangely connected to that strange, disgusting blob after learning that.

“Don’t call her a bitch!” Edington huffed. “She’s a darling!”

  
“She looks like someone’s intestines gained sentience.”

  
“Well, not all pets are perfect.”

  
“But most don’t look like Satan’s chew toy.”

  
Still, Crawford happily put her hand into Bartholomew’s box to pat her, earning some noises that sounded like malfunctioning machinery.

  
“I- but Bartholomew’s a boy’s name!” Edington tried.

  
Crawford simply rolled her eyes.

  
“If a human being is allowed to be called ‘Rimmer’, then a girl can be called ‘Bartholomew’.”

  
Rimmer frowned.

  
“What’s wrong with the name Rimmer?”

  
Both women turned to face him.

  
“I mean-” Edington began.

  
“Oh, for god’s sake, please tell me you know what your name means,” Crawford said.

  
“Of course I do,” Rimmer argued, “It means ‘one who wrote rhymes’.”

  
“Oh, you sweet summer dumbass.”

  
“What?!”

  
The women shared a look.

  
“Do me a favour, look up the word ‘rimming’, will you?"

  
“Fine, I don’t see why though.”

  
Rimmer walked upstairs to quickly look up the word.

  
He returned an hour later.

  
“…Can you call me Arnold from now on? Please?”

  
“Of course,” Edington assured him.

  
“Will do,” Crawford said.

  
“Thanks,” Arnold sighed, “…I can’t believe I didn’t know that for thirty-one years of my life…”

  
“It’s not your fault,” Edington assured him, “It’s not a common word after all… at least, not in straight circles.”

  
“I still feel stupid.”

  
“Call Lister,” Crawford suggested.

  
“Why? So he can laugh too?”

  
“None of us are laughing,” Edington pointed out.

  
“Lanstrom is.”

  
Indeed, in the other room, Lanstrom was laughing madly.

  
“…I think she might be ill,” Crawford commented, “Anyway, he won’t laugh. And he’ll make you feel better. Now shoo, Bartholomew needs feeding, and seeing her eat always makes you nauseous.”

  
“Fine.”

  
As soon as Lister had finished with the final ad of the day-

  
_“You sit alone, cold and afraid in your room. The walls seem to shake, though you don’t see them move, they stand tall and still. And the photographs hanging on them are of people who you've never met, never even seen, but recognise even if you can’ place names to faces. They watch you as you weep. Totino's; we don’t even sell in the Uk.”_

  
-Arnold called up.

  
“Rimmer, hi-”

  
“Did you know that my name is related to a… sex thing.”

  
“…You didn’?”

  
Arnold groaned.

  
“I’m sorry!” Lister said.

  
“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

  
“I didn’ mean- I jus’- I thought you knew and were cool with it!”

  
“I didn’t and I’m not. Please, call me Arnold from now on.”

  
“…Are you okay with nicknames? I kinda have a habit of using nicknames, and it’d feel weird to not use one for you.”

  
“Depends on the nicknames.”

  
“Well, Arn or Arnie are two that come to mind.”

  
Arnold had never been called either of these names before, and he suddenly wished he had. Or maybe it was better waiting until now to hear them.

  
“Eith-“ he coughed, choking on his heartbeat “-Either is good.”

  
“Alright, Arn.”

  
“O-On one condition.”

  
“Yeah?”

  
“I get to call you David. Or Dave. Or Listy.”

  
Lister was quiet for so long that Arnold became to gnaw on his fist. He hadn’t gone too far, had he? Just because he was comfortable with nicknames, after all, it didn’t mean that-

  
Lister coughed.

  
“Um, sorry about tha’. Yeah, wow…”

  
“Everything all right?”

“Yeah, it’s jus’… no one’s called me David in years…”

  
“Really?”

  
“Well, yeah. Been called Lister, Listy, Davey, Davey Boy, Cinzano Bianco, Spanners, Skipper- but never David.”

  
Arnold briefly wondered where the hell the last three came from.

  
“Not even by Kochanski?”

  
“Nope, not even her.”

  
“Huh… who was the last?”

  
“…Holly. They always used my first name… but they’ve been offline for about ten years now, and I haven’ managed to fix their programming yet…”  
“…Excuse me?”

  
“Oh, Holly was an AI. A kind of stupid one, but our one nevertheless. They used to pop up on your tv, on your phone, radio, mirrors and nightmares and either help you out or jus’ be a nuisance and tell you really bad puns.”

  
“Oh… you’re a very technologically advanced town for one that can’t get the signal to properly work.”

  
“It’s… a long story. Maybe I’ll tell it to you one day.”

  
“I don’t mind long stories if you’re telling them.”

  
He almost slapped a palm to his head. Talk about cheesy.

  
“Aren’ you a charmer?” Lister chuckled. “Maybe another night; the song’s ending so I better hang up and sign off for the night.”

  
“Alright… Goodnight, David.”

  
“Goodnight, Arn.”

  
Arnold hung up and turned on the radio.

  
_“Wasn’ tha’ a lovely song? Nothing like a bit of… whatever tha’ was to put you in a sleepy mood. And, it is getting to tha’ time of night again when I, unfortunately, have to sign off. But don’ you worry, I’ll come back, I always do. Like tha’ high school crush or really ugly ornament you hate but your partner loves. Until the morning, goodnight, Red Dwarfers. I hope you all sleep well.” _

  
Arnold settled down in his bed and wore a smile, thinking about-

  
“OI! ARNOLD! GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE, WE’RE TAKING A FAMILY PHOTO WITH BATHOLEWNEW!”

  
Arnold sighed. No rest for the wicked, he supposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fact that no one once makes a joke about Rimmer’s name in the entire course of the show is how you know it was written by straight men. 
> 
> Also, I just realised that when Rimmer takes an hour to come back downstairs after looking up the word it makes it seem like he... got off, but it was supposed to be that he had a crisis for an hour.


	18. Rimmer Becomes Confused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Assumptions are made, and Arnold is confused.
> 
> Also heads up, a brief mention of past alcoholism pops up.

At six am, there were six precise knocks at his door.

  
Although everything in his body screamed not to, Arnold reluctantly dragged himself out of bed. He’d long since learnt that ignoring something in Red Dwarf only meant that it would later come to bite you in the ass.

  
He rubbed his eyes and leaned against the door.

  
“Whossit?” Arnold slurred.

  
“If I tell you, you won’t let me in.”

  
Arnold sighed and opened the door. There was only one person he knew with such an obnoxious voice.

  
He fully opened his eyes.

  
Yep.

  
Standing before him, was Kryten Anderson.

  
He was a tall, bulky man with dark messy hair, and robotic arms, legs and eyes. And right now, he was doing his best to look intimidating, something that should have been simple considering his build. But nope.

  
“It six a-fucking-m,” Arnold whined, “What do you want you glorified bog bot?”

  
“Well, when I heard the news, I just had to come immediately and say that you must stay away from Mr Lister! He’s far too good for such a smeee-hee like you.”

  
Arnold blinked. Perhaps it was just the fact that it was currently six am, but everything that had come out of Kryten’s mouth so far sounded like complete gibberish.

  
“A ‘smeee-hee’?”

  
“Yes, a smeee-hee!”

  
“…Goodbye Kryten.”

  
Arnold slammed the door shut and went back to bed.

  
The strangeness just wouldn’t end, however. He was stopped in the supermarket (that definitely wasn’t ASDAs but was definitely run by your friendly neighbourhood doughnut cult) by a blubbering Todhunter who wouldn’t let him leave the rather one-sided conversation for twenty minutes. Then there was the odd comments from McGruder as he was walking home:

  
“RIMMER! I JUST WANTED TO SAY SORRY FOR THE OTHER NIGHT, I DIDN’T KNOW! I HOPE I DIDN’T WANT THINGS AWKWARD WITH YOU TWO!”

  
McIntyre had slipped a few condoms into his replacement cereal box, along with a note with a winky face, Chen and Selby had (attempted) a staring contest with him while he watered the flowers outside the lab, and even Cat had joined in, leaving him a note that he was sure was supposed to be threatening but was just a bunch of scribbles.

  
The only variant in the strangeness had been Kochanski. She still acted strangely, but her strangeness wasn’t threatening.

  
“I think you’ll do each other good,” she said, “Congratz.”

  
He wondered into the lab with a confused expression. Luckily, Crawford was quick to explain.

“They think you’re fucking him.”

  
His jaw dropped and he stared in horror.

  
“I- But- Why!?”

  
“Well,” Edington theorised, “You did start using each other’s last names, right?”

“And since most people seem to go by their last names here, obviously they think there’s a big reason why you suddenly decided to go by first names,” Crawford continued.

  
“But-“

  
There was a knock on the door.

  
“You’re not-boyfriend is here Arnold,” Lanstrom called out.

  
“He’s not my- I mean he is my- oh, let him in,” he huffed.

  
David stumbled in, looking a little out of breath and messier than usual.

  
“Oh god, I am so sorry about them all,” he said, “I don’ know why the smeg they went straight to us dating without even bothering to ask! All I did was say you might have a folder or two spare that McGruder could borrow.”

  
“It’s not your fault.”

David didn’t look convinced.

  
“Kryten didn’ bother you too early, did he?”

  
“…Six am.”

  
David groaned.

  
“Sorry, I’ll have a word with him later… I thought he’d gotten doing this sort of thing – he used’a give Kochanski hell when we first got together – but no.”

  
Crawford whistled.

  
“Sounds like you boys been having a rough day. I got just the pick-up.”

  
She produced a twelve-pack of beers from one of the cupboards.

  
“Sierra!” Edington gasped. “You can’t keep beer in the lab.”

  
“I can, I have and I will. You boys in.”

  
David licked his lips and shook his head, a frown on his face.

  
“Nah, I… I better not… I… I was an alcoholic a few years back. I’m fine now, can handle a glass of wine or something every now and then, but beer… it was always my glass of poison, so I prefer to avoid it.”

Arnold reached over, linking their little fingers together. David looked over, offering a small smile.

"Oh, Lister," Edington gasped, "I'm so sorry..."

"Thanks, but really, I'm fine."

Crawford nodded, put the beer back, and produced a bottle of red wine and four glasses.

  
“Sierra!”

  
“Irene, do you want a glass or not?"

  
Edington stayed quiet.

  
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she huffed before turning back to David, “This better?”

  
“…Aw, wha’ the hell,” he said, “Not like you lot will let me get drunk. Could use something to help me nerves anyway.”

  
Crawford nodded and began to pour.

  
“…Quick question, but aren’t you supposed to be at working right now?” Arnold asked.

  
“Aren’ you?” David countered.

  
“I am at work,” Arnold argued, “I’m just not… working.”

  
David rolled his eyes.

  
“I can tell. Anyway, after I told Kochanski that it was a load of smeg and she saw how worked up I got about it, she felt bad enough to give me a day off work.”

  
“Well, if that’s the case,” Crawford began, “Why don’t we move this to the living room, order some food and watch tv?”

  
“Do you lot ever actually work?” David asked.

  
“We do, I promise,” Edington insisted.

  
“Or I do at least,” Lanstrom called out from the other side of the lab.

“…So, you in or not?” Crawford asked.

“What we ordering?”

  
“Indian?”

  
“Fuck yeah.”

  
“Nice. Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crawford's first name is Sim but that sounds weird for a human, so Sierra it is.


End file.
